From Martyr to Model: How Moms Find Themselves Again

Let’s be real for a second. How many times have you looked in the mirror after a sleepless night, covered in spit-up or dealing with a toddler tantrum, and thought, “Who actually is this person?”

We go into motherhood with movie-script expectations. The organic bento boxes. The gel manicure that never chips. The white picket fence that somehow stays white. Then reality hits. The fence is missing, the house is loud, your inbox and laundry are both overflowing, and you feel like a shell of who you used to be.

If you’ve ever felt like you lost your identity the moment you gained a baby, you are not broken. You’re going through something huge that most of us were never taught to name.

I sat down with Sarah Sterling, a parent coach and mom of two, to dig into the messy, beautiful, and sometimes terrifying shift of becoming a mother. We went there—ADHD diagnoses, the “good mom” myths we need to burn, resentment, gatekeeping, and how to find your voice again when you feel like a background character in your own life.

Reheat your coffee. Let’s talk about why you feel this way—and how to find yourself again without abandoning the people you love.

The Word You Didn’t Know You Needed: Matrescence

For a long time, I thought my struggles were just “me problems.” Then Sarah dropped a term that reframed everything: matrescence.

Think adolescence. Awkward, hormonal, weird, identity-shifting. Matrescence is that, but for the move from woman to mother. It’s not just about a baby arriving—it’s about you becoming.

It’s physical: Your brain literally reorganizes, your sleep and hormones change, your body is doing the most. You’re not “dramatic,” you’re adaptive.
It’s social: Friendships shift, work expectations slam into childcare realities, and the world starts treating you differently (hi, “mommy track”).
It’s spiritual: The way you see yourself and what you value gets re-written. Sometimes it’s gentle. Sometimes it’s a controlled burn.

Words create worlds. When you can name what’s happening, it stops feeling like a personal failure and starts feeling like a transition. There’s relief in that. It answers the nagging question: “Why am I sad? Why do I feel isolated? Is something wrong with me?” No. Something is changing in you—and that’s allowed.

Two things can be true: You can love your kids more than life itself, and you can grieve the woman you were before they arrived.

The “Maternal Wall” and the Myth of Martyrdom

We need to talk about the pressure. There’s a cultural script—“good moms” disappear. They never need. They volunteer for everything, show up to work like they don’t have kids, parent like they don’t have a job, and apologize for breathing too loud.

Sarah calls this smacking into the “Maternal Wall.” Before you ever reach a glass ceiling, you’re stopped by the invisible expectations that you should do it all, perfectly, with a smile. It’s not a personal weakness; it’s a systemic setup.

Here’s the problem with martyrdom: it looks like love, but it quietly breeds resentment. And resentment always leaks—into your voice, your body, your marriage, the way you look at a sink full of dishes like it personally offended you.

The Oxygen Mask Theory (But Make It Real Life)

I used to think “giving up everything” was the job description. But here’s the unsexy truth: if you run yourself into the ground, you’re modeling burnout as normal. Is that what we want our kids (especially our daughters) to assume motherhood is? Hard no.

So I started setting hard boundaries. Even if it’s just walking the dog alone, I tell my kids, “No, you cannot come.” Not to be mean—because Mom is a person with needs too. That is love in action. That is leadership.

Micro-boundaries count:

Five minutes in the car after pickup before you go inside.
A closed-bathroom-door policy for one song length.
One night a week when someone else does bedtime.
Saying “I’m not available right now” without a dissertation.

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Letting Go of Control (To Gain Control)

One of the biggest things Sarah and I bonded over: maternal gatekeeping.

You know the voice:

“I’ll just do it myself; I do it faster.”
“No one loads the dishwasher right.”
“If I leave, everyone will die.”

Gatekeeping makes sense when everything feels out of control. We cling to what we can. But control can be a trap. It keeps you exhausted and keeps other adults on the bench.

Hot take that saved my sanity: letting go of control is actually a form of control. You get to decide to delegate. You get to decide what you won’t carry. You get to let your partner do bedtime their way, even if it’s not your way. You can choose “done” over “done my way” when your nervous system needs the win.

Try this:

Pick one task to fully hand off for 30 days. Don’t hover. Don’t correct. Don’t “fix it later.”
Create “good enough” standards for shared tasks (laundry gets put away sometime before Friday; dishes by bedtime; nobody dies).
Use scripts that keep you out of micro-managing: “I trust you with this,” “Your way works,” “I’m off-duty.”

The “NPC” Syndrome: When You Feel Like a Background Character

I told Sarah that motherhood can feel like being an NPC (Non-Playable Character) in a video game. You hand out snacks, you drive the car, you keep the side quests alive—but you’re not the main character anymore.

Sarah hit a point of burnout where she had the degree, the job, the husband, the kids—she followed the blueprint—but still felt empty. She asked, “What do I want my legacy to be? How do I help my kids find passion if I’ve ghosted my own?”

If you’ve felt that too, here’s a clue: envy is just data. When I’m resentful that my husband goes to the gym, it’s usually because I want what he’s having—time, permission, movement, space. He didn’t stop me; I stood in my own way. Let envy be a breadcrumb, not a moral indictment.

How to Find Yourself Again (Without Being Perfect)

Sarah’s path back to herself started hilariously small: an anonymous Twitter account to complain. She used sarcasm and humor (my love languages) to tell the truth about her life. People related. She remembered she likes to write. That tiny risk led to a life coach, which led to becoming a parent coach. Baby steps, big shifts.

Practical steps for the weary mom:

1) Exercise Your Voice

You don’t find your voice by thinking about it—you find it by using it.

Journal for five minutes. Uncensored. Write the ugliest sentence you can and keep going.
Send one honest text to a friend: “I’m not okay today. Do you have 10 minutes later?”
Start a “burner” social account to practice saying things out loud without the Aunt Brenda feedback loop.

2) Embrace Vulnerability (Safely)

Avoiding vulnerability keeps you stuck. Choose low-stakes experiments:

Share one honest story with a safe person.
Ask for help with a specific task (“Can you do pickup Thursday?”).
Say what you want out loud at least once a day (“I want an early bedtime tonight.”).

3) Recognize the Long Haul

Postpartum is not a 12-week chapter; it’s a season. Many moms feel physical and emotional shifts for far longer than anyone warns them. If your toddler is two and you’re just now feeling the fog lift, you’re not late—you’re right on time. Go gently.

4) Check Your “Do vs. Be” Balance

When you live in “Do Mode” (lists, logistics, fixing), you burn out. You need “Be Mode” (presence, rest, play) to refill your system.

Do Mode: meal prep, emails, laundry, schedules.
Be Mode: 10 minutes on the porch, dancing in the kitchen, reading a page of a book, stretching while the pasta boils. Plan “Be” moments on purpose, the way you plan dentist appointments.

5) Make Your House a Nervous-System-Safe Home

Your home is not a museum; it’s a nervous system. Aim for “safe and workable,” not “perfect.”

Visual quiet: one clear counter, one reset space.
Sensory anchors: a soft throw blanket, a candle you actually like, music that calms you.
Transition rituals: shoes off + water sip when you walk in; three deep breaths before you answer a meltdown.

6) Use Identity Scripts

Start speaking to yourself as the mom you’re becoming:

“I’m a safe, loving, imperfect-but-present mom.”
“I honor my nervous system and model rest.”
“I don’t need a spotless house to be a good mother.”

A Morning in Two Versions (Story)

Version A: You wake up to a toddler yelling “MOMMY!” Your chest tightens. You’re already behind. You scroll for five minutes to numb out, then jump straight into refereeing and reheating. By 9 a.m., you’ve snapped three times, and the shame spiral is loud.

Version B: Same toddler. Same yell. You put a hand on your heart and inhale for four, exhale for six. You whisper, “Present over perfect.” You hand the iPad over without the inner trial. You drink water. You ask your partner to handle breakfast while you take a five-minute shower. Nobody’s winning a prize, but no one’s crying in a pantry either. The identity shift isn’t glamorous, but it’s felt.

Martyrdom vs. Modeling: What Are You Teaching?

If you have daughters (I have three), do you want them to learn that motherhood means disappearing? If you have sons, do you want them to expect their partners to disappear?

When you set a boundary, take a break, delegate, or practice rest, you’re not failing your family—you’re teaching them how to be a human who respects limits. That’s leadership. That’s love.

What About Work, Business, and “Losing the Old You”?

If you run a business or have a career, this identity shift hits your systems too. Good news: you don’t need a 42-step Notion board to feel in control. You need a few simple rhythms that serve your real life:

One brain dump per week (everything out of your head and onto paper).
One priority per day (the non-negotiable that moves life or work forward).
One protected block (90 minutes, devices out, choose deep or gentle focus).
One off-ramp ritual (close laptop, 3 breaths, quick tidy, lights off).

You don’t have to sprint to prove you still “have it.” You get to build systems that serve your life, not steal it.

If You Feel Like You’re Failing

You’re not. You’re evolving. Your nervous system is doing exactly what it’s designed to do in a big transition—protect, adapt, learn. When you catch yourself thinking, “I’m a hot mess,” try, “Oh hey, that’s my overwhelm talking,” or “That’s my fear of getting it wrong.” Name it, normalize it, choose the next kind thing.

My Challenge to You This Week

Do one thing just for you. Not for the kids, not for the house, not for your partner.

Walk the dog alone without earbuds.
Write a bad poem and don’t delete it.
Text a friend, “Want to trade voice notes this week?”
Put the shoes in your cart and press buy.

Because when you heal—and when you show up as your full, messy, authentic self—your whole family gets safer. You break the quiet legacy of martyrdom. You model self-respect.

Identity-Based Invitation

If you’re ready to be the kind of mom who doesn’t need a spotless house or perfect system to feel safe in her skin, start with your nervous system. Get curious about your stress style (Fight, Flight, Freeze, or Fawn) and build one tiny regulation ritual into your day. Then add one boundary that gives you back 15 minutes of “Be Mode.” That’s not selfish. That’s leadership.

FAQ

What is matrescence, really?

It’s the developmental process of becoming a mother—physical, social, emotional, and spiritual. Not a defect. A transition.

How do I know if it’s matrescence or something like postpartum depression/anxiety?

Matrescence includes a wide range of normal shifts; PPD/PPA involve persistent low mood, intrusive thoughts, or anxiety that interferes with daily life. If you’re unsure or struggling, please reach out to a qualified healthcare provider. Support helps.

I’m a single mom. Does any of this apply?

Absolutely. Boundaries, micro-regulation, letting go of perfection, and delegating (to friends, family, community, or paid help when possible) still apply. Your support system may look different, but your needs are just as valid.

What if my partner doesn’t “step up” when I let go?

Be clear and specific about what you’re handing off and by when. Agree on “good enough” standards. Hold the boundary when it’s uncomfortable. If patterns persist, consider a couples conversation or outside support.

I don’t have time for self-care. Now what?

Think “sips,” not spa days: a glass of water, three breaths, standing in the sun for 60 seconds, one song dance party, five-minute journal brain dump. Micro-rest regulates more than you think.

At The End of The Day: You Are Still in There

Motherhood is an identity shift, yes. Sometimes it’s a crisis. But it’s also the greatest invitation to meet the real you. I went from a chaotic childhood to seeking safety in structure, to realizing the real transformation happened when I let some of that structure crumble. Sarah went from anonymous venting online to coaching parents with compassion and fire.

You don’t have to follow the blueprint anymore. You can burn the blueprint.

Stay Heartcore, Homie!

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